A Cup of Normal (8 page)

“Vannel thought the slave trade abysmal. He would not continue his father’s trade in flesh, once his own child had been born.” Johnathon held her gaze, and she had the distinct feeling he was waiting for a reaction from her, an admission of knowledge.

“Majesty,” one of the guards called out. “This is the opening.”

Thera approached the guard. This door was the exact match to the iron door Johnathon had worked loose, and as before, he stepped forward and placed the same key in the rusted lock and worked it with oil until it gave way. The guards lifted the heavy bolt — a beam of timber reinforced by rods of iron — and put their shoulders to the door.

It gave way and cool air poured into the tunnel.The guards extinguished their torches in the dirt and Thera put out the wick of her lantern. With no lights to give them away should anyone chance to look up at the mountainside, the guards stepped out, Thera and Johnathon on their heels. The moon was lowering to the west, only a few hours from the horizon line. The tunnel opened onto an outcropping of rocks that looked down over the sloped valley to the expanse of Harthing’s outermost lands, given mostly to wheat crops and sheep. Even in the uncertain light, Thera could make out the distant, glossy black towers of Harthing Keep, banners catching like strands of silver in the moonlight. But in the valley itself, Thera saw the glittering orange jewels of camp fires and the dark hulk of tents. Enough for an army readying to march the Riven Mountains to Gosbeak’s Pass, and then to her kingdom proper.

“How many?” she asked.

“Five thousand at least,” one guard, perhaps Tarin, said.

“Near enough,” the other guard agreed, “with more at the keep, I’d wager.”

Thera felt the cold of the night sink through her flesh. “Five thousand here, an equal amount at the keep and a likely alliance with the East. How many men do you think Harthing can muster?”

The guards looked at Johnathon. She too, glanced at her advisor. His face was grim, pale. “Forty thousand, with the aid of their southern borders, which seems likely since the trade route has been closed to them also.”

Thera took several deep breaths. “We have twenty thousand soldiers at best, and most of them two week’s ride at our northern borders. The skirmishes have taken too many men, the plague has taken too many babies —” Her voice took on a high, frightened tone and she shut her mouth.

“I would like your advice, gentlemen,” she said evenly.

“We could come at them by the river route. They wouldn’t be expecting that,” Tarin said.

“Meet them at the pass with archers,” Beir mused.

“And what of the other thirty thousand men who would descend upon us?” Thera asked. “We are already too short on human life. How many can we lose before we no longer have the people to run the kingdom, nor defend it?”

Johnathon spoke into the silence. “If we are in a position of defeat, let us preempt their attack with negotiation. Perhaps we can come to an agreement for the trade route, placing our own profit upon it. If,” he added, “the trade route is what they want.”

“Agreed,” Thera said. “I’ll send a request for negotiation to the queen on the morning.” Thera turned back toward the tunnel. The steel rasp of a sword pulling free of a scabbard stopped her.

“Hold,” an unfamiliar voice called out.

Behind her, Jonathon paused. Over the edge of her hood she saw Beir shift, his hand going to the weapon on his hip.

“Hold or you’ll take your last breath,” the voice warned.

Beir cursed. Thera tipped her head so she could see over her shoulder. Two archers held heavy crossbows aimed at them. The sound of movement told her there were at least two others she could not see.

“Do not draw your weapons,” the voice said to her guards. “You two, turn around.”

Thera and Johnathon turned. Thera’s heart sank. Six men clothed in cloaks the color of the rock and scree stood on the outcropping. Five held crossbows, and one, likely the leader, held a sword.

Sentries, scouts. How could she have been so foolish? The Mother Queen had not forgotten about the slave tunnels in all these years. And now Thera had just opened the surest route of attack into her own kingdom. Her heartbeat raced. There had to be a way to solve this, to undo the damage.

Johnathon stepped forward, his hands spread wide. “Peace. Let there be no bloodshed between us. We bear news from the Midlands.”

“Of course you do,” the leader, taller and thinner than the other men said. “Spies. Assassins.”

“I assure you that is not so,” Johnathon said. “Allow us to speak to your commander.”

The swordsman grunted. “If it were up to me, Midlander, I’d carry your head to the queen herself. But the captain wants spies questioned before they’re killed.” He sheathed his sword and smiled coldly. “You’ll have your say, but I’ll have your weapons.”

Johnathon inclined his head in a bow.

“These two first.” The leader pointed at Tarin and Beir. Two sentries came forward and stripped them of their swords and knives then pulled their hands behind their backs. Beir’s shoulders bunched and his hands clenched, but neither he nor Tarin resisted as the sentries bound their wrists. A sentry turned to Johnathon, tied his hands, then approached Thera.

The man smelled of wild onions. His eyes were dark and narrow, his face unshaven. He pressed his hands against her hips, then his eyes went wide.

“Well, look what they’ve brought along.” He pushed her hood and cloak back, revealing her obviously female form, though she wore shirt and trousers.

The man smiled, showing crooked teeth. “Let me make sure you don’t have anything sharp under your clothes, girl.” His hands lingered over her breasts, hips, and slid up her thighs.

The other sentries chuckled.

Thera grit her teeth and stared straight ahead.

“You feel safe enough to me.” He bit the lobe of her ear.

Anger filled her in a flash. Though she would endure many things, she was still the queen.

Thera shifted her weight and ground the heel of her boot into his insole.

The man howled and slapped her across the face. Her vision tunneled to a point of darkness and her ears rang. When her head cleared, she heard Johnathon’s voice.

“Enough! She carries no weapons. Men of the Midlands don’t need women to fight their battles.”

Thera blinked until her eyes focused. “Do not —” she began.

The sentry holding Johnathon drove a fist into his stomach. Johnathon bent at the waist, breathing heavily, his hood hiding his face.

“Let him be!” Thera commanded. She tried to move but her wrists were behind her back and a rope bit into her skin.

The swordsman glared at Thera, looked at Johnathon, then at Thera again. “Which of you is the leader?”

Thera drew a breath but Johnathon spoke first. “I am.” He straightened.

The swordsman strode forward and punched him again. Johnathon groaned.

“Tell your people to obey us,” he said to Johnathon, “or they will receive twice your punishment.” He looked over at Thera. “Do you understand?”

Johnathon straightened, slower this time. “We will listen,” he said. Thera nodded.

“Good,” the swordsman said. “The captain will not want to be kept waiting. Move.” He pointed to the thin trail that lead down the mountain side.

Johnathon started down the path, Tarin and Beir pushed into place behind him. Thera was last. Her head hurt and her right eye was swelling. The anger that had filled her seethed below the surface of her thoughts and with it, fear.

The men behind her muttered and made wagers. More than once, she heard them say “the woman” was the prize. Hands tied, weaponless, she felt vulnerable as a naked child. She pushed that thought away, and kept her gaze on the uncertain footing among the rocks. What mattered now was finding a way to save her lands. Everything else, she could endure.

The trail ended at a dirt road that brought them alongside the encampment. They stopped in the middle of the road and one of the sentries jogged off through the maze of tents and returned with a cloaked and booted woman beside him. The other sentries acknowledged the woman’s arrival with a nod.

“Tell me,” she said. Her voice was a soft alto, her unhooded face a pale oval with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes that were colorless in the moonlight. Her hair was pulled back in a peasant’s knot, yet she held herself with confidence and poise. Royalty, but too young to be the Mother Queen.

“Midlanders from the tunnels, Captain,” the sentry said. “They say they have news for the Mother Queen.”

“And the tunnels?”

“I left two behind to see.”

The woman — the captain — nodded. “Bring them.” She strode into the encampment.

In a voice they alone could hear, the swordsman said, “You have come to the wrong place this night, Midlanders.”

They were marched into the encampment, past tents where Thera heard gambling, snoring and soft prayers. In one tent, the only sound was a blade drawing again and again over a whetstone.

That
, Thera thought,
is the sound of my land’s death, and I their only shield
.

The sentries pushed them through the door of a small tent surrounded by torches. The torchlight outside and within the tent fouled Thera’s night vision and made her eyes water and sting. Johnathon, the guards, and she, stood shoulder to shoulder, crossbows still aimed at their backs.

The woman, the captain, sat in a chair behind a dark wooden table that held a plain clay cup, parchments weighted by a rock, and a lantern.

The captain looked perhaps twenty years of age. Her cloak was drawn back to reveal the collar of a simple green tunic trimmed by gold thread and tiny jewels that winked as she breathed. But it was her eyes that caught Thera off guard.

The girl’s eyes were the unmistakable deep-set green Thera had seen reflected in each of her children. The one trait each child had inherited from their father, Vannel. A clear mark of his royal blood in their veins.

Thera’s thoughts whirled. Johnathon had said Vannel closed the slave route when his first child had been born. Was it for Thera’s first son, Gregory, or was it because of this girl, the link of royal blood between two kingdoms, that Vannel had broken the slave trade with Harthing? The girl was old enough she would have been conceived in the early years of Thera’s marriage to Vannel.

He had betrayed her. He had fathered a child, who was now a maiden, fully old enough to claim his throne. To take his lands. To take Thera’s lands.

Thera looked over at Johnathon. He nodded in silent apology.

The only child the Mother Queen had borne survived. All of Thera’s children had died, and now, too, the certainty of her husband’s faithfulness.

Thera felt sick, dizzy. Angry.

Endure
.

“Who are you, and what brings you to my lands?” the captain asked.

Thera stepped forward. “I am Queen Thera Gui of the Midland Kingdom. I came to answer your summons and negotiate peace for both our lands.”

The girl’s eyebrows shot up. “Truly?” She held very still, her bright eyes never leaving Thera’s face. “Let me hear your offer.”

What could Thera offer this girl? What one thing would join both lands in peace? Looking at the girl’s eyes, Thera knew what she must do.

“I will step down from my rule, given certain conditions are met. The first of which is that you and I negotiate this peace alone.”

“My Queen. Please reconsider,” Johnathon said.

Thera did not look away from the girl. “Are you willing to speak for your lands or shall I speak with your mother?”

The girl scowled. “I am not such a fool to bring a woman claiming to be queen in front of my mother. Guards, take the men from my tent, but do not harm them yet.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

The guards and Johnathon were escorted away by the sentries.

“Can you prove you are indeed Queen Thera Gui?” the girl asked.

“No.”

The girl studied her, gaze flicking to her hair, the faint red line that marked the place of Vannel’s crown upon her brow, her mouth, and then her eyes. Something there made the girl nod.

“As I could not prove that I am Rynell Harthing if I were bound and tied before you.” She stood and pulled a long knife from her belt.

The girl walked behind Thera and cut free the ropes that bound her wrists, then stood in front of her, close enough she could easily strike with the knife. “Tell me what peace may be found between our lands.”

Thera pulled her hands forward and resisted the urge to rub her wrists.

“I am no longer a young woman, nor is your mother,” Thera said. “The dispute between our kingdoms could end if another woman ruled in both our steads.”

“You ask me to usurp my mother’s power?”

“I ask you to take what is rightfully yours.”

They stood, eye to eye, silent.

“The invasion will cost your lands dearly, as it will cost mine,” Thera said. “There is little to gain but bloodshed. If I give you my throne, it will be on the condition that you rule with me for one year so that I may guide your hand, give you counsel.”

“And if I refuse? If I spill your blood now and take your lands?”

“Even with the tunnel open, even with my death, my kingdom will not fall easily.” It was more of a bluff than Thera liked, but there was truth in it. Her people were fiercely loyal. Peace would never be held in hearts crushed beneath Harthing’s rule.

“People you love will die,” Thera said quietly.

The girl’s eyes narrowed and she bit her bottom lip. She looked so like Vannel that Thera’s heart caught, ached.

“Child,” Thera began.

“Rynell.”

“Rynell, you are the hope of both our lands. My people will follow you if I so bid them.”

“You are so sure of this?”

“Yes. They will see their king in your eyes.”

Rynell blinked and looked as if Thera had just slapped her.
Surely the girl must know who her father was
, Thera thought.
Anyone who saw her eyes would know
.

Rynell walked behind the wooden desk.

“I have heard I resemble him greatly,” she said quietly. “Was he ashamed of me? Of a daughter?”

“He was proud of all his children.” Thera’s voice caught, but she pressed on. “He would have wanted the lands in the hands of his own blood.”